


Across The Sands And Sea

by LittleHeda



Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egypt, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But I'm doing it anyways, Clarke is a princess turned servant, Clexa, F/F, Lexa is the Pharaoh, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, minor smut, no one asked for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:43:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleHeda/pseuds/LittleHeda
Summary: “Your Gods are not unlike mine,” The girl said. “I believe that Zeus may resemble your Amun-Ra.”Lexa hummed in acknowledgement before folding her arms behind her back. “I am Lexa,” She told the blonde. “Daughter of the Heretic King, Akhenaten. Sister of the late Pharaoh Tutankhamun,” Her lips quirked up into a smug smirk. “Pharaoh of the land in which you seek safe refuge. Tell me your name, girl, or I will banish you from my lands and to the quarries.”Pushing out a breath through her nose, the foreigner visibly weighed her options. Lexa could see the contemplation in her eyes as she glanced at the tile beneath her feet. “Clarke,” She said after a moment, dejected, and Lexa’s heart sped with satisfaction. Clarke. “Daughter of Queen Abby. I am the princess of Greece.”





	1. Chapter One.

Sunlight reflected dimly off the polished bronze mirror of Pharaoh’s vanity. Her dark eyes scrutinized her reflection, the image of her face distorted against the warped metal. The handmaiden tending to her that morning, Octavia, had twisted her hair into a thick braid and was in the process of tucking it beneath her wig. Thinner braids framed the Pharaoh’s face, accentuating sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could have carved the temples of Karnak. The beeswax that Octavia had used to hold the wig in place was still warm, soaking into the Pharaoh’s scalp and calming her unwavering anxiety. 

When she was finished, Octavia stepped back and bowed her head, her hands clasped together in front of her. “Your Majesty,” She spoke softly, and the Pharaoh’s eyes, emerald green and rimmed with the darkest of kohl, caught her reflection in the mirror. “Will you be wearing your crown today?” She asked, and Pharaoh quirked her head in contemplation. 

She glanced across the room and to where the Khepresh crown of Egypt was sitting dormant on a second vanity. The blue crown was often ceremonial, but the Pharaoh wore it frequently as it  signified the strength of a woman who had led her army into battle. It signified the strength of a woman who, with every odd imaginable stacked against her, had brought peace and prosperity back to Egypt. 

Pharaoh Lexa, daughter of the Heretic King, Akhenaten, had done well in earning the respect of her people. She had done well in restoring faith in the crown, undoing the traitorous acts of her father and mother, Queen Nefertiti. Lexa had counseled her younger brother, the late Pharaoh Tutankhamun, until his untimely passing at nineteen years old before taking the crown for herself. She had, in the several days following her ascension of the throne, banished her father’s monotheistic religion, restoring the timeless Gods who had been worshipped for centuries by her ancestors. 

“No,” The Pharaoh decided, and Octavia lifted her head in surprise. “A diadem will be fine today. The gold band, if you would,” Lexa gestured towards the other end of the room with a perfectly hennaed hand. “There is no need to dress fancy for meetings with the priests and courtiers.” 

Octavia bowed at the waist before shuffling across the Pharaoh’s chambers. She retrieved Lexa’s golden diadem and, after dusting it off with her dress, carried it back to the Pharaoh and carefully placed it on top of her head. With a kind smile, Lexa straightened the band so that the serpent welded to the diadem was resting in the center of her forehead. “Thank you, Octavia,” The Pharaoh said, and Octavia dipped her head in response. Lexa turned in her seat to acknowledge her, frowning as she noted the girl's frail appearance. “Have you eaten?”

She blinked in surprise, but Octavia kept her gaze on the floor. “No, your Majesty.”

As Lexa rose to her feet, Octavia staggered back several steps and with her head still bowed in respect. At her fear, the Pharaoh sighed. Octavia's parents had sold both her and her brother to Akhenaten in order to pay off a debt, and Lexa's father hadn't been known for a kind heart. Bellamy had been forced to join the army, and Octavia had nearly ended up a slave in Akhenaten's harem. Had it not been for Lexa, only the Gods knew what would have become of her. 

“Go to the kitchens,” Lexa said gently, and Octavia glanced up at her through her lashes. “Lincoln will fix you something to eat.” Octavia’s mouth parted around the beginning of an argument (the Pharaoh’s linens were in need of being changed, after all), but a stern look from Lexa was all that it took to silence her. “Eat,” The Pharaoh commanded. “Your chores can wait.” 

Octavia hesitated. Her duty to attend to the Pharaoh was all that kept her alive. “Yes, Pharaoh," She finally spoke. "But shall I accompany you to the audience chamber first?” 

Lexa’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile, painted red with ochre. “That will not be necessary,” She answered calmly, slipping her feet into the golden sandals that were sitting next to her vanity. “Gustus, I am sure, is waiting for me outside. You are dismissed from your duties until you’ve had breakfast.” 

“Thank you, Pharaoh.” Octavia said, her tone betraying her gratitude as her stomach disloyally grumbled. Chuckling, not without humor, Lexa waved her away with a single swat of her hand. After a low bow at the waist in obeisance, Octavia retreated from the room and gleefully headed off towards the kitchens. 

When Lexa was finally alone - a rare occurrence for the Pharaoh - she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She wished, more than anything, that she could return to her bed and sleep until the sun was at its highest. It was too early, the morning too new, and yet her palace was fluttering with activity. Her maids were tending to their chores. Her guards were on duty through the halls. Courtiers and priests were awaiting her arrival in the throne room, and although it was unbecoming of a Pharaoh to be late, it _was_ her throne room, after all. _Perhaps_ , she thought, _my subjects could wait a little longer?_

The answer to her question came in the form of a thundering knock. 

Lexa glanced wistfully at her bed before dutifully rising to her tallest height. “Enter.” She  called, and the wide double doors that led into her bedroom brought the fluttering of the palace into her chambers. 

Her Vizier, Titus, was a ghastly man with the arrogance of a God. He held his head high as he swept into the room, his scrutinizing glare befalling the Pharaoh with contempt. “Your Majesty,” He greeted tersely, and buried beneath the weight of his eyes, Lexa quickly squared her shoulders. “Your presence has been requested in the audience chamber,” Titus announced. “There is a matter at hand that requires your immediate attention.” 

Tilting her head, Lexa tried to ignore the stir of excitement that rose within her. “I am the Pharaoh,” She reminded him calmly, clasping her hands behind her back and sauntering towards the Vizier. Titus was several inches taller, but spineless, he lowered his gaze to the floor upon her approach. “No one _requests_ my presence, including you. Is that understood?” 

“My apologies, your Majesty,” Titus replied, gritting his teeth. _Oh_ , how his old student loved to test him. “But there _is_ a matter that requires your attention, and that matter is causing a scene in the audience chamber. I thought, perhaps, it would be of interest to you.” 

The Pharaoh raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “A scene?” She inquired. Titus nodded. “Lead the way then, Vizier. I cannot have courtiers causing a scene.” 

“She is no courtier,” He informed her, guiding the Pharaoh from her room. As the doors swung shut behind them, Gustus, a large man armed with a spear and sword, took his place in line behind the Pharaoh. Lexa raised her hand at him in greeting, but his resolute silence was readily accepted as he acknowledged her with a brooding nod. “She is not of Egypt, your Majesty,” Titus was saying. “She claims to be from a land called Arkadia. She speaks of Gods that are not our own.” 

A feeling of unease settled into the pit of Lexa’s stomach. “She is a heretic, then,” She deducted, her long strides purposeful. Titus struggled to match her pace. “Like my father. Is she of sound mind?” Lexa asked, worry creasing her brow. “Does she speak our language?” 

“Yes,” Titus answered. “She speaks our language,” The man grimaced. “Whether or not she is of sound mind remains unclear. She claims to have sailed across the sea, and as you know, there are no ships in Egypt that are capable of such a journey,” His spindly fingers appeared from beneath the sleeves of his robe as he threw open the audience chamber doors. “I believe she is sick from the desert heat.” 

Chin raised high with indignation, the Pharaoh of Egypt hastened her pace and swept through the center of the room. Courtiers, priests, and palace servants immediately dropped to their knees, but Lexa disregarded them entirely as she became fixated on the woman before her throne. Interest piqued, the Pharaoh found it hard to discern the girl’s disrespect as blue eyes turned sharply to glare at her. 

Stricken by the ferocity of her gaze, Lexa forced herself to keep her own eyes forward as she quickly ascended the dais. Titus and Gustus followed her up the alabaster steps and dutifully stood at her side, Titus' lanky figure nearly perched at the armrest of her throne. The Pharaoh found herself struggling to remain impassive, struggling to keep the wonder from her face, and lowered herself down into her throne. She quirked her head.

The woman in front of her was beautiful. 

Her eyes, a crystalline blue that reminded Lexa of the Nile, were wide and sparkling with distrust. The foreigner’s hair was a gold so finely spun that it shone like the sun from the heavens. Her ivory skin was pale, significantly more so than any of those who walked in Egypt. If not for the exhaustion that furrowed the girl’s brow, the absolute fury that marred her features would have been cause to have her sent to the quarries.

Lexa leaned forward in her throne, her hands pressed into the gold armrests. “What is your name?” She asked, and Titus nearly choked at her curiosity. Equally as surprised as the Vizier, the blonde blinked her eyes before raising her chin in defiance. She crossed her arms, but Lexa watched as the guard beside her elbowed her harshly in the ribs. The girl cringed. “Where are you from?” The Pharaoh tried, and as the stranger simply stared at her with indifference, Lexa felt her patience begin to wane. “Why have you come to my capital?” 

Hearing the Pharaoh’s clipped tone, the blonde's reform wavered. “For refuge,” She stated through her teeth, grunting when the guard who’d captured her in the city market hastily elbowed her in the side again. Her own tone, she supposed, hadn’t been as respectful as she’d liked to imagine. “I hear that Egypt is a safe place to call home.” 

“For some,” Lexa confirmed calmly, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other. “Why is it that you were brought to my palace?” She glanced at the guard holding the woman prisoner. “Ryder?”

The man, new to the guard, cleared his throat uncertainly. “She was caught stealing, your Majesty. I found her being chased by a merchant in the market.”

Lexa would swear by the grunt of disgust that rumbled in the back of Gustus' throat. The guard, she knew, was his brother, and he'd taught him better than to bring such trivial matters to the Pharaoh. 

“And so you brought a thief into my home?” Lexa challenged, arching a brow and tapping her fingers against the armrest. Ryder blanched, his mouth opening and closing several times before he relinquished any hope for a rebuttal. “In Egypt, the punishment for thievery is the loss of one’s hand,” The Pharaoh reminded him. “Why would you bring her to me instead?”  

At this, Ryder seemed to brighten. “Because, your Majesty, she was speaking of lands unheard of,” The girl next to him spun sharply on her heel, but her fiery gaze hardly deterred him. “She spoke of a village called Arkadia. She spoke of Gods unlike our own. Zeus, I believe I heard her say.” 

The Pharaoh rose to her feet and slowly descended the dais. Titus scrambled down after her, Gustus following suit with more poise, but Lexa met the stranger’s gaze and held it. “Zeus,” She mused, rolling the foreign word around in her mouth. “I have never heard of this God,” Lexa stood tall in front of the blonde, but the girl held her ground and glared up at her. “If you desire to seek refuge in my country, you will learn to pay homage to our Gods.”

“Your Gods are not unlike mine,” The girl said. “I believe that my Zeus may resemble your Amun-Ra.”

Lexa hummed in acknowledgement before folding her arms behind her back. “I am Lexa,” She told the blonde. “Daughter of the Heretic King, Akhenaten. Sister of the late Pharaoh Tutankhamun,” The corners of her lips turned up into a smug smirk. “I am the Pharaoh of the land in which you seek safe refuge. Tell me your name or I will banish you from my lands and to the quarries.” 

Pushing out a breath through her nose, the foreigner visibly weighed her options. Lexa could see the contemplation in her eyes as she glanced at the tile beneath her feet. “Clarke,” She said after a moment, dejected, and Lexa’s heart sped with satisfaction. _Clarke_. “Daughter of Queen Abby. I am the princess of Greece.”

The Pharaoh was unable to mask her surprise. “Princess?” Lexa inquired, glancing uncertainly at her Vizier. “Why would a foreign princess seek refuge in Egypt?” She asked, her tone darkening with skepticism. “Should I be expecting an army to come beating down my gates in search of you?”

Clarke, no qualms with her lack of respect, rolled her pale blue eyes. “No,” She answered, crossing her arms indignantly. “But I am being hunted by my people for treason. I doubt, however, that my mother will cross the Mediterranean and come looking for me.” 

“Your Majesty,” Titus conveyed, eyeing the blonde from across the sea. “Remember the reign of your father. All it took was for one man’s way of worship to nearly bring Egypt to its knees,” Clarke, uncaring, scoffed. “Send her to the quarries and be done with her. She admits to committing treason in her homeland, and she has already stolen from your markets. You cannot—”

“Water,” Clarke intervened. “I stole water. Your desert, though I assume it comes as no surprise to you, is hot.” 

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. “Titus,” She began cordially, her green eyes holding Clarke’s gaze. “Summon Echo. Have her prepare a bed for our guest in the east wing of the palace,” Clarke’s brows rose in surprise, and Titus’s arms were flapping in complaint at his sides. “The princess will be trained as a handmaiden. She may work with Octavia and Raven,” Lexa noted the darkening of Clarke’s expression and smirked. “Consider this your punishment for stealing from the merchants in my market.


	2. Chapter Two.

In the days following Clarke’s arrival, the Pharaoh had expelled all thoughts of the foreigner from her mind. Lexa, as one would expect, had far more important matters to concern herself with. It was late in the season of Ahket, and the River Nile had yet to flood the banks of Egypt. The Pharaoh feared, as did her people, that if the Nile failed to provide them with the fertile soil needed to grow their crops, they would hardly have a harvest come Shemu. Her people would surely suffer from famine if her farmers couldn’t plant their seeds, and so Lexa didn't have the time to dwell upon a certain blonde beauty from across the sea.

At least, she reckoned, it had started out that way.

Several days after her initial meeting with the Grecian princess, Lexa woke from her slumber to find that Octavia and Clarke were preparing a bath for her. The handmaiden, frustrated beyond her wits, was explaining to Clarke that the Pharaoh enjoyed lavender oil in her bath. Clarke, vastly unenthused and with little concern as to what the Pharaoh did and didn't like, was pouring copious amounts of it into the water. A sigh escaped through Octavia’s lips as she pressed her fingers to her temples, willing away the headache that was beginning with build there.

Lexa forcefully bit back a smile, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Good morning,” She greeted them, and Octavia’s eyes widened as she spun around to look at her. Caught off guard by her Pharaoh's sudden appearance, Octavia quickly bowed at the waist and elbowed Clarke in the ribs. Yelping a protest, Clarke momentarily met Lexa's gaze before following suit, bending at the waist and lowering her eyes to floor.

“Is my bath ready?” Lexa questioned, hardly containing her smirk when Octavia stood up straight and cruelly stomped on Clarke's foot, an indicatory that she should do the same.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Octavia answered, turning to shoo Clarke away before motioning towards the alabaster tub. “Shall I send Clarke to fetch fresh clothes for you?”

“No,” The Pharaoh replied, stripping the robe from her body in one swift, unabashed movement. Octavia was unfazed by the Pharaoh's sudden nudity, but she blinked in surprise that Lexa had undressed in front of a stranger. Her pale lips formed around the words of an argument, but Lexa raised a hand that quickly silenced her. “You're familiar with what I like to wear,” She pointed out, and Octavia's head inclined with agreement. “If you would, bring me clothes for the arena. I will train after I visit the temples today. Clarke can help me bathe.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Help you _bathe_?” She said, her tone bordering on disgust. “Are Egyptian’s incapable of doing that themselves?” Clarke heard Octavia’s sharp inhalation of air, but the corners of Lexa’s resolve finally waned; she smirked. “The royals in _my_ country—”

Lexa straightened, rolling her shoulders back and raising her chin with indignation. The sudden movement of her body drew Clarke’s gaze away from her face, her eyes falling to the swell of Lexa’s chest and then lingering there. She flushed. “You are not in your country,” Lexa reminded her, and Clarke tentatively licked her lips before lifting her eyes to meet Lexa’s again. The Pharaoh was smug. “Octavia, leave us.”

Hesitant, the brunette glanced at Clarke from the corners of her eyes before bowing her head in submission. She knew better than to argue with her Pharaoh, but she prayed to the Gods that Clarke didn’t test Lexa’s patience. In spite of ruling with an iron fist, Lexa was a kind woman who loved her people. If she believed Clarke to be a threat to the empire that she'd worked so precariously to restore, the Pharaoh of Egypt wouldn't hesitate to make her death public execution in the courtyard.

When Octavia was gone, Lexa held Clarke’s crystalline gaze as she slowly stepped into the alabaster tub. Her legs folded beneath her and she sank into the water, her eyes fluttering shut as the heat soothed her aching muscles. Lexa breathed in deeply through her nose, her head falling back to rest over the edge of the pale stone. She was quiet, basking in the warmth of both the water and the sun as it filtered in from the open roof above. To her silent amusement, she also basked beneath the weight of Clarke's stare, her eyes observing the expanse of Lexa's body with little shame.

“You should not gawk at your Pharaoh,” Lexa mentioned conversationally. “It is considered a sign of disrespect in my country.”

Clarke blinked out of her stupor, her gaze having lingered too long in places that she found inappropriate. “Do you make it a habit of stripping naked in front of your people?” She asked, and Lexa’s chest rumbled with quiet laughter. Her hands moved lazily through the water, swirling the mixture of oil and flower petals. “You seem perfectly capable of bathing on your own.”

The Pharaoh hummed in acknowledgement. “There are sponges on the table to your left,” Lexa stated, her head lolling to the side and towards Clarke. Her eyes, however, remained shut. “But I suppose, if you're uncomfortable, you may stand there and watch me while I wash. Are all Greeks such bashful people?”

“No,” Clarke scoffed, grabbing a sponge and tossing it into the tub with the Pharaoh. “Quite the contrary, actually,” Lexa’s eyes fluttered open and, as her gaze once again met Clarke’s, she leaned forward and retrieved the sponge. “My people are free spirited. We enjoy all aspects of life.” She watched as Lexa began to lightly scrub at her arms, wondering whether or not it was of the Pharaoh’s normal behavior to put on a spectacle for her servants.

“Then why did you leave?” The Pharaoh questioned. She drew the sponge across her chest and studied Clarke's reaction. Her eyes dipped lower and followed the motion of Lexa’s hand, entranced. “Clarke,” Lexa sang, and Clarke met her gaze again. “Why did you leave?”

Clearing her throat, Clarke forced herself to focus on their conversation. “I told you,” She said. “My people were hunting me for treason. My mother placed a bounty on my name and said that I was to be brought to her, dead or alive,” She shifted her weight uncomfortably, and Lexa took note of Clarke’s guarded expression. “I know of things that I should not know, and I threatened to tell our people. They have a right to my mother's secrets.”

Interest piqued, Lexa released the sponge. She pushed away the back of the tub and waded through the shallow water, her dark eyes honed in on Clarke like a predator stalking its pray. Her fingers grasped at the edge of the tub and she pulled herself forward, pressing her body against the cool stone in front of Clarke. “What secrets?” She asked, and Clarke turned away from her with a certainty that she'd said too much. “What secrets?” Lexa questioned again, and Clarke caught her bottom lip between her teeth, willing herself to be silent. “Your time spent here in my palace, Clarke, will be much more enjoyable if you cooperate.”

“I did not come to Egypt to stay in your palace,” Clarke grounded out, regretting her tone for only a moment when the Pharaoh's eyes grew sharp. Her jaw, its angle so sharp and so cutting that Clarke was certain it'd been chiseled by their Gods of creation, grew taught. “You could have sent me to your quarries to die. You could have put me on a ship and sent me home,” Clarke's mind was suddenly bursting at the seems with a vastly growing curiosity. “Why allow me to stay inside your palace?”

Lexa placed elbows against the edge of the tub, her chin falling to rest in her open, calloused palm. “You’re a threat,” She answered simply. “I cannot have a heretic running rampant in my capital. Talk of your Gods would create a panic and would instill a fear of the past in my people,” Lexa’s expression darkened. “I trust that you know of my father?”

Clarke shrugged. “Your people refer to him as the heretic King,” She said. “He rose the sun God, Aten, above your pantheon. He banished the old Gods from Egypt and placed a ban on their worship. He destroyed their temples and shrines,” Clarke quirked her head. “You restored them.”

“No,” Lexa corrected her. “My brother did. Tutankhamun was our father’s only son and was, rightfully, the heir to our throne. But he was weak,” She pushed away from Clarke, floating backwards through the water. She settled on the far side of the tub again, all the while her gaze never straying from Clarke's. “He was young when Anubis took our father, and so he did not see the state in which Akhenaten had left our people,” Her eyes raged in recollection and with memories of a past not soon forgotten. “They were starving in the streets. They were begging for the restoration of our Gods so that peace and prosperity would return to us.”

Enthralled by this new information, Clarke absently shuffled towards the tub and leaned her palms against the stone. “Your brother died three years ago,” She commented, and Lexa gave her little indication that she felt any remorse for her brother’s death. The slight furrow of her brow was the only sign that, perhaps, Lexa may have mourned for his passing. “I heard he was murdered.”

Taken aback, Lexa blinked several times in surprise. “ _Murdered_?” She asked, appalled, and Clarke reeled back from the edge of the tub at her outburst. “Are you insinuating that I—”

“No!” Clarke requited. “Of course not. Perhaps the news of his death was skewed from across the sea.”

Lexa pushed out a breath through her nose before calming herself, settling back into the water. “My brother was injured in battle,” She explained, and her heart felt heavy inside her chest. “He fell from his chariot and broke his leg. By the time he returned home to Thebes, he was ill with fever. Our healers could not save him,” The Pharaoh’s eyes became hallow orbs of green as she sifted through the memories of her brother. “He was young, hardly a man, but he was kind. He ruled fairly,” She grit her teeth. “But he was weak. Our people were desperate for a ruler that would fight for them.”

“So you counseled him,” Clarke guessed. “You are four years his senior, correct?”

The Pharaoh’s tone was soft. “Was,” She corrected quietly. “I _was_ four years his senior. But yes, I counseled him. The surviving members of my father’s court were not men that he could trust. They craved power, and Tutankhamun was young and naive. The Boy King, our people called him. He ruled from the shadows of other men,” Lexa blinked before lifting her gaze to meet Clarke’s. “I find it quite the coincidence,” She said. “That you know so much about my people, and yet I know nothing about yours.”

Clarke’s mouth turned up at the corners with a sly smile. “My people travel,” She said. “As do yours. But much of what I know, I have learned through the word of mouth,” She leaned her palms against the edge of the tub again, her blonde tendrils of hair cascading in gentle curls over her shoulders. “My nights at sea were long. I stayed up late listening to the stories of your people.”

She hummed with acknowledgment, leaning her head back over the edge of the tub. She closed her eyes. “You shall accompany me to the temples today,” Lexa decided with certainty, and Clarke raised an eyebrow. “You will learn the ways of my people and my Gods if you wish to find safe refuge here. As I said before, I cannot have a heretic living within my walls,” Clarke scoffed, reminding the Pharaoh that staying in the palace was not her choice. “No,” Lexa agreed. “But in the palace, I have eyes everywhere. At the first sign of trouble, I reserve the right to cast you back into the sea that you came form.”

A quiet chuckle escaped through Clarke’s lips. “I assure you, Pharaoh, that I have no qualms with you, your people, or your Gods,” At her words, Lexa’s eyes fluttered open. “I simply seek asylum in Egypt. I suppose, however, that I am grateful for your generous hospitality,” Clarke smiled. “Perhaps one day I will be in the position to return such a favor.”

“It is unlikely,” Lexa acknowledged. “I have no intention of being cast aside by my own people. A Pharaoh cannot commit treason against their own law,” She smiled ruefully at Clarke’s dejected expression. “The thought, however, is well appreciated.”

Jaw clenched, Clarke stood up straight before clasping her hands behind her back. “You should finish washing, Pharaoh,” She said through her teeth. “Octavia will be returning soon with your clothes.”

“Of course, Clarke,” Lexa retrieved the sponge that was floating across the surface of the water. “When she returns, you both will accompany me to the temple of Amun, and you shall learn to pay obeisance as an Egyptian."


	3. Chapter Three.

The temple, Clarke was surprised to learn, was not inside the Pharaoh’s palace. She ventured instead through the bustling city of Thebes, a single guard all that protected her and Octavia from being harassed by merchants in the market. Hands, innocent and with a blossoming curiosity, were reaching towards her and stroking her blonde locks of hair. The princess was uncomfortable from all the unwanted contact and attention, so she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her inner musings to herself. Octavia had had to remind her that Egyptian's weren't accustomed to such fair colored hair, and that the marvel that was Clarke of Arkadia was just as exciting as the Pharaoh that was being carried through Thebes. 

Shielded from the sun by the Pharaoh’s extravagant litter, Clarke found a moment of solace in the Egyptian Queen’s arrogance and—she assumed— her fear of dirtying her dress and feet. The litter was a gilded chair covered in drapes, and it provided ample amounts of shade that protected both Clarke and Octavia from the desert heat. She watched as the carrier teetered from side to side, and although the weight of it was distributed on the shoulders of four brutish warriors, the man standing on the front left side was shorter than his companions.

Selfishly, Clarke hoped that the Pharaoh would be tossed from her chair and forced to walk like the rest of them, all the while nursing a bruised ego.

As they embarked on their journey through the city, Clarke's curiosity rose as tall as the pyramids that she'd seen on her way to Thebes. She turned to look at Octavia, then lightly nudged her in the hip with her elbow. Annoyed by the sudden invasion of her personal space, Octavia fixed Clarke with a withering glare. “Your Gods,” She began, and Octavia tried not to groan. “Do you worship them all in one temple?”

Much to Octavia’s relief, the handmaiden was spared from having to answer her when Lexa drew back the linen covering her throne. “No,” The Pharaoh responded, her sharp eyes staring down at Clarke from the litter. “We are visiting the temples of Karnak today,” Lexa explained, and Clarke’s head quirked to the side. “The temple was built for Amun, but other Gods and Goddesses are worshipped here as well.

Eager to hear more, Clarke nodded. “Amun,” She mused, the name rolling smoothly off the tip of her tongue. “He's the patron deity of your capital and is considered the King of your Gods,” Clarke hardly cared for Lexa's approval, but the Pharaoh acknowledged her with a small inclination of her head anyway. “Are there other temples here in Thebes that are dedicated to the remainder of your Gods? Or do you pick and choose who you worship to?” 

“There are several shrines and temples in my capital,” Lexa told her, her fingers tapping against the armrest of her chair, considerate. “ Perhaps I will arrange for you to visit them. All Gods are worthy of worship, and should you decide to do so on your own, it would benefit you to know where their temples are,” Lexa’s emerald eyes hardened. “There are shrines inside the palace as well, though they are hardly frequented with visitors. Perhaps it would do you well to become acquainted with them instead.” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?” She quipped, taunting. “Are your priests so easily swayed that they will turn a blind eye to your Gods upon the mentioning of mine?” 

The Pharaoh clenched her jaw, the tendons in her neck flexing beneath her skin as she gritted her teeth. “Mind your tongue,” Lexa warned, and Clarke smirked in light of her small triumph. “Octavia will teach you our prayers and how to properly pay obeisance to Amun. Do your people leave offerings inside the temples of your Gods?”

“Yes,” Clarke told her, a slight skip to her step as she sauntered alongside Lexa’s litter. “My mother favored the Goddess Athena, and so we paid homage to her frequently. Her temple was the largest in Arkadia. She's our Goddess of wisdom and strategy in battle,” Clarke hummed thoughtfully before glancing up at Lexa, whose gaze was fixated on the woman from across the sea. “I am rather fond of the God Apollo,” She told Lexa, who tilted her head as a vague encouragement for Clarke to explain her reasoning. She found herself wondering why the princess would choose a favorite, as all Gods in Egypt were equally loved and worshipped. “He is the God of art and healing. I frequented his temples back home.” 

As always, Clarke had found the pique in Lexa's interest. “You enjoy art?” The Pharaoh asked, and the Clarke nodded vigorously, her lips curling back to reveal a bright smile. Lexa, taken with her beauty, offered a smile of her own. “You will enjoy the temples of Karnak, then,” She resolved, and Clarke’s eyes shone with excitement. “The inner sanctum of Amun’s temple is beautiful.” 

Clarke’s smile widened, and absently, she shuffled even closer to the litter, her fingers swatting at the linen drapes that flowed over the side. The guard closest to her grabbed her arm to haul her away, but the Pharaoh raised her hand and dismissed him. Surprised, Ryder nodded his apology and fell back into line behind Octavia and Clarke. Gustus reprimanded him in a quiet, harsh tone for having acted without the Pharaoh's command.

Far from being deterred by the guard that Lexa had assigned to her, Clarke looked up at the Pharaoh with a hopeful expression. “Perhaps it may be too much to ask,” She began, almost bashfully. “But I like to draw in my free time. Would it be possible to—”

Lexa found herself nodding before Clarke could even finish her sentence. “Of course, Clarke,” She said, and her words prompted even Octavia to look up at her in surprise. Lexa was nothing if not kind, but she'd always been more wary of strangers and certainly never did them any favors. “I'm sure that my artisans can spare some extra supplies. Do you have a preferred medium?” Lexa asked, and Clarke's smile dimmed from a wide grin to a gentle upturn of her lips. 

“Kohl would be fine,” The princess told her, and Lexa was taken aback by the simplicity of her request. _Kohl_. Even the Pharaoh could spare her a few sticks of the black substance that she used to darken her eyes. Clarke chuckled quietly at her bewilderment. “It is a medium that I am familiar with. My father used to—” Her expression was suddenly bitter, and the Pharaoh wondered whether or not she'd accidentally wandered into dangerous territory. An emotion flashed through her eyes that Lexa wasn't accustomed to, and the Pharaoh felt her heart ache with sympathy for Clarke's blatant remorse. But she recovered quickly, her features hardening with an impassive expression as she turned her eyes towards the desert. "It is a medium I am familiar with.” 

Deciding against the inquiries that were swarming through her mind, Lexa allowed for the white linen sheet to fall back into place between them. Clarke’s face was hidden from her view, but in turn, the Pharaoh was hidden from her’s as well. “I will send someone to find your supplies when we return to the palace,” She stated, and Lexa heard the blonde’s quiet grumble of thanks. A thump soon followed, though Lexa didn’t bother peeking outside to see who had scolded Clarke for her lack of genuine gratitude. “The temples of Karnak are up ahead, and if it interests you, ask Octavia to show you the Sacred Lake.” 

Scoffing, Clarke’s mood shifted into her usual sullen broodiness. “Your lakes are sacred?” She asked, and Octavia’s elbow collided sharply with her ribcage. “It was an honest question,” Clarke hissed at her, dramatically prodding at her side. “Continue to punish me for innocent curiosity and I will drown you in your sacred lake.”

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitched, but her expression remained stoic behind the curtain. Clarke was, without doubt, an unusual addition to her usual company. Octavia was a girl of few words, though she served her Pharaoh to the best of her abilities. She was, Lexa believed, loyal to an absolute fault. But even so, Lexa had to wonder what Octavia was like when not in the presence of her Queen. If her frustrated, harmful jabs to Clarke’s person were any indicator of a hidden character, Lexa wasn’t sure she preferred the obedient handmaiden. Reluctantly, she found herself wishing that the brunette was more like Clarke instead: brash, outspoken, and always mildly inquisitive. 

She knew, by the quiet gasp that escaped through Clarke’s pale lips, that they had reached the temples of Karnak. Lexa, against her better judgement, pulled back the linen curtain again to observe the foreigner’s expression. With her fingers splayed across the exposed skin of her hennaed chest, Clarke’s eyes had widened with comical awe. The temple, she realized, was far more extravagant than she had imagined. Even Octavia, who usually glared at Clarke with contempt, snickered with amusement at the Grecian princess’s reverence. 

The Pharaoh, Clarke learned, was awful when giving credit where credit was without a doubt due. Karnak was an absolute spectacle, and the blonde wasn’t sure if its beauty met or surpassed the temples across the sea in her homeland. As they approached, she did as Lexa had predicted, and enjoyed Karnak for what it was: a masterpiece. A masterpiece of tall, alabaster pylons painted with splashes of color. Clarke marveled through a gated archway that opened into a luscious courtyard with, what she assumed, was the Sacred Lake of the temple. 

“Octavia,” The Pharaoh called, and the handmaiden’s attention was drawn to the litter. “Show Clarke the Hypostyle Hall,” She said, prompting Octavia to expel an exasperated sigh. “I am sure she will appreciate the artwork. When she's done gawking at the paintings, bring her to the inner sanctum with the proper offerings to Amun. You will teach her how to pay her respects.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” Octavia replied, reluctant. She roughly grabbed Clarke by the arm and began to guide her away, but the princess was too caught up in her wonder to realize that Lexa had been abandoned in her litter. Karnak’s beauty, she would later argue, surpassed anything that she had ever seen, rivaled only by the Queen who had contributed a temple to its creation.


	4. Chapter Four.

The cut just above the Pharaoh’s eyebrow was superficial; it would heal with little more than a faint scar to mark its infliction. Clarke was gentle as she lightly scrubbed away the rivet of blood that had rolled down Lexa’s cheek and dried there. She had watched Lexa train amongst her warriors for several hours after their return from Karnak, and during that time not a single one of them had spared their Queen any leniency. Clarke was, as always, full of interest.

Lexa, much to Clarke’s surprise (and possibly her dismay), was an astounding fighter. She had held her own against the men she had sparred against, her dual swords parrying the blades of her warriors. She was fierce, and in spite of knocking several soldiers to the ground, they all still regarded her with wide eyes full of admiration. After each warrior yielded to the Pharaoh upon their defeat, Lexa would offer them her hand, help them rise to he feet, and then would graciously thank them for training with her. 

It was an odd sight indeed, Clarke had mused, and she’d questioned Octavia extensively throughout their visit to the arena. Octavia, with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, had answered each inquiry in stride. By the time Lexa had left the ring with only a slight limp to her gait, Clarke knew the names of several of the warriors she had sparred with. She knew that the Pharaoh spent a great deal of her time training in the arena and that, on the mock battlefield of sand, sweat, and blood, her warriors were expected to acknowledge her as an equal, not their Queen. 

But what she _hadn’t_ learned, and what had possibly drawn her attention the most, was the name of the boy who had inflicted the cut above Lexa’s eye. He was young, scrawny, but he’d moved as swiftly as the wind. The Pharaoh had fended him off on several occasions, but the boy had caught her by surprise when he’d twisted around and, somehow, brought the hilt of his blade crashing into the front of Lexa's skull. She’d stumbled, her head jerking to the side from the force of the blow, and Clarke had held her breath. The boy had looked equally as surprised as Lexa, and lowering his sword to his side, he had immediately bowed at the waist and apologized. 

The Pharaoh had clapped him on the shoulder, thanked him for a good fight, and had exited the arena with a smile. 

When the blood was washed away from the Pharaoh’s tan skin, Clarke’s thumb lightly brushed across Lexa’s temple. A clear salve was left in its wake, coating the wound and clotting the sluggish ooze of blood. “That boy,” Clarke found herself saying, dipping her hands into the small basin of water on the stand next to Lexa’s bed. She washed the salve from her fingers, and the Pharaoh hummed in acknowledgement, emerald eyes studying her face. “The one who managed to strike you with his sword. Who is he?” 

The corners of Lexa’s lips quirked with an affectionate smile. “His name is Aden,” The Pharaoh told her, and Clarke’s head tilted with wonder. “He is the brother of a friend and my potential heir to the throne,” Lexa chuckled quietly at Clarke's astonishment, her blue eyes widening with surprise. “Does that surprise you, Clarke?” 

“Yes,” Clarke nodded, and without any conviction, she proceeded to tell the Pharaoh why. “Is it not in the Egyptian custom for a Pharaoh to marry?” She asked, and Lexa’s eyes hardened to steel. Clarke was confused by her sudden contempt, but spoke quickly in her own defense before Lexa could call for her head. “In Greece,” She said. “Our King will take several wives to ensure an heir to the throne. As a Queen, should you not do the same?” 

Lexa clenched her jaw, struggling to remind herself that Clarke was not of Egypt. Her curiosity was unabashed and she knew not how to hold her tongue, but her interest was genuine and pure. Perhaps Egyptian culture was not lost on her, but the Pharaoh and her personal ways were uncharted territory. Clarke knew nothing about her.

“A Pharaoh can do as they so desire,” Lexa stated, her chin raised with indignation as Clarke regarded her with uncertainty. “Men are of no interest to me, and I do not need one to provide me with an heir to my throne,” Her expression softened only as Clarke began to nervously drum her fingers against the side of her leg. She sighed. “My apologies, Clarke,” She relented, and cerulean eyes met her gaze. “I tend to forget that you are not of my country. My personal affairs are lost to you.” 

Clarke smiled, though the expression was tentative. “I tend to speak first and think later,” Clarke countered, and the corners of Lexa’s eyes crinkled with amused acknowledgement. “Aden,” The princess mused, thoughtful, and Lexa quirked her head, better prepared for the woman’s interest. “His family must be very dear to you if you’re willing to make their son your heir.” 

It was the slight furrow of Lexa’s brow and the darkening of her eyes that prompted Clarke to frown again. “Yes,” Lexa murmured, and Clarke was certain of the despair that colored her tone. “His family was very dear to me, his sister especially. She was…” Lexa paused, choosing her next words carefully. Like her personal affairs were lost to Clarke, Clarke's personal beliefs were lost to the Pharaoh. “Special,” She eventually decided. “Aden’s sister was special.” 

Clarke worried at her bottom lip as the Pharaoh turned, angling her body away from her. “What was her name?” She asked gently, not having missed the affection that flashed through the Lexa's eyes as she spoke of the boy’s sister.

“Costia,” Lexa answered, tersely, and through gritted teeth. “Her name was Costia.” 

Nodding, Clarke folded her hands together in her lap. “I lost someone special to me, too,” She said quietly, and interest drawn, Lexa turned her head to look over at her. Clarke was sullen, her gaze dropped to the floor. She was sitting on the edge of Lexa’s bed, and her foot was bouncing with anxiety as she sifted through the memories inside her head. “His name was Finn. He was a warrior. _My_ warrior,” Clarke swallowed down her grief. “An attempt was made on my life, but Finn was there and took the blade for me.” 

Empathetic, Lexa’s hand moved without her permission, and she lightly touched Clarke’s arm. “I am sorry,” She told her, but she knew from experience that her words would do little to bring her comfort. “He died bravely. My people would have revered him as a hero,” They fell into a momentary silence that, because Clarke had shared something so personal, Lexa eventually broke to provide her with the same courtesy. “Anubis came for Costia in a similar manner,” She explained to her, and Clarke's brows furrowed as she glanced up at the Pharaoh in surprise. “She was not a warrior, but Costia would have followed me from this life to the next had I allowed her to.” 

“You loved her.” It was no question.

Lexa pushed out a sharp breath through her nose, nodding once. “Yes.” 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke murmured, resisting the urge to reach out a hand and console the Pharaoh. It wasn't her place, even though Lexa had done the same for her. “Did she die well?” 

It was an odd question, but Lexa took it in stride. “I suppose,” She answered, lifting her eyes and prompting emerald green to meet blue. “Costia refused to stay here in Thebes when I traveled north to Kadesh. A war with the Hittites was eminent, and she would not let me face them alone,” Lexa gritted her teeth, the hole in her heart that had been left behind after Costia’s death aching dully. “Their warriors attacked our camp outside the city, and Costia was one of the many casualties that day,” Lexa closed her eyes, reminiscent. “It was a quick death, merciful, when the Hittites are not known to show clemency.” 

Clarke’s expression was considerate, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she recalled her own lover’s death. “Finn suffered,” She told Lexa. “There was poison on the blade that was meant for me. He lingered for several days before passing.” 

A disheartened sigh escaped through the Pharaoh’s lips. She suddenly rose to her feet, and Clarke scrambled to do the same. “Thank you for accompanying me today,” Lexa said, and Clarke quirked her head at the abrupt change in conversation. “I trust that you enjoyed the temples of Karnak?”

Confused, Clarke nodded. “Yes,” She answered. “Karnak is beautiful. I commend Egypt’s artists for their work.”

The Pharaoh’s smile was forced as she held her hands together behind her back. “I will see to it that the art supplies we discussed are obtained by tomorrow morning. They shall be waiting in your chambers when you are finished with your chores.”

Even though Clarke was grateful, she opened her mouth to question the Queen’s sudden indifference. Sensing this, Lexa held up her hand to silence her. “You are dismissed,” She said, prompting Clarke to frown. “Enjoy your evening, Clarke, and be sure to visit the kitchens. Lincoln will prepare a meal for you if you’re hungry.”

Dejected, the Grecian princess heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes, Pharaoh,” She murmured, and Lexa blinked at her. In the days following Clarke’s arrival, she’d yet to address the Pharaoh by any title. It surprised her, she’d admit, that Clarke was willing to recognize her as a superior. “Goodnight, your Majesty. Sleep well.” Respectfully, she bowed at the waist and, also to Lexa’s surprise, offered her no qualms or argument. No witty remark or agonizing quip to increase the tension between them.  

“Goodnight, Clarke.” Lexa replied, and without a word, Clarke spun on her heel and sauntered from the Pharaoh’s chambers.

She sighed when her servant was gone, the doors swinging shut with a gentle thud in her wake. Lexa, unaccustomed to being alone so early in the evening, busied herself  with brushing her hair and changing into a fresh set of clothes. She set about doing the chores that, had she not dismissed her, Clarke would have done before retiring for the night. 

With a heavy heart in the wake of her discussion with Clarke, Lexa circled her bedroom and extinguished the flames of several flickering candles. She allowed for the fire to continue burning in the brazier next to her bed, but with a sudden exhaustion that pulled at her body like an anchor, Lexa sank into the mattress and lazily rolled beneath the furs. 

Closing her eyes, Lexa breathed in deeply and, reluctant, expelled all thoughts of Costia from the forefront of her mind. The dead were gone, the living were hungry, and the Nile had yet to flood its banks. The Pharaoh had no room in her heart to dwell on the memories of her lover. Nor did she have the room in her heart to dwell upon the blonde who had crossed the sea in search of refuge.

 


	5. Chapter Five.

Her fingers were stained black from the constant ministrations of smudging her kohl against papyrus. Clarke had perched herself on the banister of a balcony, her legs stretched out across the alabaster stone that separated her from the courtyard below. Her muse, she’d decided that morning, was the statue of the sphinx that was sitting amongst the flowers in the garden. The creature’s body had been lost to a tangle of vines, but its large paws and curling tail jutted through patches of green. The occasional rose provided pops of color amongst the vines, but it wasn’t until Clarke had begun to sketch the sphinx’s face that the desire for a new medium became prevalent. Kohl would do her subject little justice.

With her index finger, Clarke smudged at the outline of sphinx’s jaw and sharpened it. She used the side of her hand to smear the excess kohl back into the vines, eliminating the daunting shadow that had darkened the statue’s features. Nitpicking at the more minuscule details of her portrait, Clarke soon moved on to the sphinx’s eyes before pausing to tilt her head. She realized, with a startling recognition, that she was all too familiar with the eyes staring up at her from the papyrus. 

Clarke glanced back and forth between her drawing and the statue in the garden. The sphinx, she discerned, had been crafted in Lexa’s likeness: a jawline sharp enough to have carved the temples of Karnak, wide eyes that burned with the intensity of the Pharaoh’s gaze, and a thin smile that, in Clarke's opinion, more-so resembled a smirk. She blinked, her fingers absently tracing over the papyrus as she pondered the creation of her subject. Had Lexa ordered it be crafted? It was strange, Clarke supposed, but becoming. Sphinxes, like the Pharaoh, were fierce. 

The blonde was roused from her reverie by the deep rumble of a palace guard clearing their throat. Clarke startled, her art supplies scattering from her lap and dropping over both sides of the balcony. She groaned, the vast majority of her kohl disappearing into the bushes below. “My apologies, my lady,” The guard told her, and Clarke glared up at him through her lashes. “But this is the Window of Appearances. You should not be seated here.” 

As always since her arrival in Egypt, Clarke’s curiosity swiftly grabbed hold of her. “I’m afraid that I am unfamiliar with the Window of Appearances,” She said, scrambling down off the banister. The guard raised an eyebrow, his fingers loosening around his spear. “What is it for?” Clarke asked, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of her lips. “No one informed me that this balcony was special.” 

His responding smile was kind, and Clarke couldn’t help but to notice the way that his brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “The Pharaoh seldom interacts with her people,” He explained to her, and with his free hand, the guard reached up to brush away the dark mess of curls that were framing his freckled face. “She uses the Window of Appearances when necessary, such as during festivals and to greet foreign dignitaries,” He used his spear to support his weight and leaned towards her. “You must be Clarke.” 

Surprised that he knew her name, Clarke crossed her arms over her chest. “It is only fair,” She said. “That if you know my name, then I should know yours as well.”

He smiled again. “Bellamy,” The guard told her politely. “My name is Bellamy.” 

 _Such an odd name for a warrior_. 

“How is it that you know my name, Bellamy?” Clarke asked, her tone painted with such an expectancy that, had Bellamy not heard all about this woman from his sister, would have surprised him. “Certainly I am not the talk of the Pharaoh’s palace?” 

Bellamy chuckled. “No,” He agreed. “You're not. But I have heard plenty about you from Octavia,” Clarke’s eyes brightened with recognition. “She's my sister,” Bellamy added with absolution, and Clarke found herself nodding. She could see the similarities between them. Physically, at least, because Bellamy proved to be much nicer. “Octavia says that you are not of Egypt,” The guard continued, his dark eyes sparkling with wonder. “She says that you came from across the sea.” 

“I did,” Clarke told him, leaning back against the banister. Her discarded art supplies had been forgotten on the ground, but Clarke had stepped her foot on several sheets of papyrus to prevent them from drifting away in the wind. “I come from the city of Arkadia in Greece. My mother is the Queen.” 

Nodding, Bellamy stepped closer, his expression eager for more. “Greece,” He said, the foreign word rolling experimentally from the tip of his tongue. “You say that you crossed the Mediterranean, but _how_?” Bellamy inquired, curious. “We have no ships that are capable of traveling such distances,” The boy paused, sheepish. “I did not think that the sea had an end.”

“I took several ships,” Clarke entertained, eyebrows lifted with amusement. “There were several ports throughout my journey, and I jumped from ship to ship so long as they were traveling south,” Her tone was vaguely tinged with ridicule. “And I assure you, there _is_ another side to the sea.”

Before the guard could press her for any more details on her journey— “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.” 

Bellamy whirled around and nearly dropped his spear, his eyes widening comically before he quickly bowed at the waist. The Pharaoh, accompanied by the boy’s sister, was striding purposefully down the hallway. Lexa hardly paid Bellamy any mind as she slowed her pace, and instead, her gaze became fixated on Clarke. She'd bent at the waist in a halfhearted bow, but the Pharaoh was certain that it was only because Bellamy had done so first. Had they been alone, Clarke would have crossed her arms.

She raised without Lexa’s permission only a moment later, her head cocked to the side as she addressed the Pharaoh’s scrutiny. “I was not mocking him,” She stated, defensive. “I was correcting him.” 

The Pharaoh hummed in appreciation as she clasped her hands together behind her back. “I see,” She said, then turned to Octavia and smiled kindly at her. “Continue without me, Octavia,” Lexa told her, and Octavia lifted her dark eyes from the floor in a silent question. “Clarke can accompany me to Amun’s shrine instead. I believe that I overheard you speaking with Raven about wanting to make an offering to Taweret.”

Octavia’s cheeks heated with a blush, her eyes darting to her brother’s face to gage his reaction to the news. Bellamy’s jaw was slack. “Yes, your Majesty,” She said, hesitant. “Lincoln and I, we—”

“The two of you have my blessing,” Lexa informed her, the corners of her mouth twitching with the threat of another smile. “And I am sure that you will also have Taweret’s. Go now,” She said, dismissing the handmaiden with a gentle wave of her hand. “You have my permission to take extra grain from the kitchens. Leave them in offering at Taweret’s shrine,” The Pharaoh glanced at Bellamy, indignant. “You shall accompany your sister.”

With a brooding expression etched into the crevices of his face, Bellamy grunted. “Of course, Pharaoh.” He grabbed Octavia by the arm and, without waiting for his own dismissal, hauled her down the corridor. 

Raising an eyebrow, Clarke watched them leave before turning to Lexa. “Taweret?” 

“Yes,” The Pharaoh replied. “In making an offering to her, Octavia prays that Taweret will bless her with a child.”

Clarke blinked, surprised. “A _child_?” She repeated, and Lexa nodded once in confirmation. “But she is young, and Bellamy seemed unpleased by the idea.” 

“It is not his choice,” The Pharaoh conveyed, her shoulders rising with a shrug. “The Gods bless us as they see fit, and if Taweret deems Octavia worthy of a child, then she will grant her one. Bellamy is wise enough not to try and intervene,” She paused, considerate. “Octavia is sixteen. Many of my handmaidens are much younger and have children of their own.” 

“My mother would have cast me from our home had I given birth at such a young age,” Clarke admitted, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. “Are she and Lincoln married?”

Lexa shook her head. “No,” She answered. “Which is why I gave her my blessing. Octavia cannot marry without Bellamy’s permission, and Bellamy will not grant it. He, like you, believes that she is too young,” The Pharaoh saw the woman’s curiosity flash through her crystalline eyes, but Clarke opted to save her questions for the dark haired, dark eyed siblings. Lexa, though she would deny it until death, bristled. Bellamy was as pretentious as he was handsome, and Clarke spending her time with him was unsettling. 

She took a step back, lost in her reverie, then startled as the forgotten papyrus beneath her feet slid out from under her. She shrieked, grabbing at the banister behind her just as Lexa, forgetting herself, reached forward and hastily took a hold of Clarke’s hand. Clarke’s heart, which had leapt into her throat at her near collision with the ground, jolted inside her chest at the contact. Her breathing hitched, and Lexa noticed, though she only let go when she was certain that the princess had regained her balance. 

Clarke cleared her throat, embarrassed, and the tips of her ears turned red. “Thank you,” She murmured bashfully, scrambling to bend at the waist and collect the papyrus from the ground. Riddled with a mixture of pity and apathy, Lexa dropped gracefully to one knee and began to help her. Her fingers brushed against Clarke’s hand as they both reached for the same sheet of papyrus, though Lexa’s brows furrowed as she gently tugged it free from Clarke’s grasp. “Oh, um…” Clarke fumbled, her eyes widening as Lexa quirked her head. “That’s…it's not finished yet.” 

“Perhaps,” Lexa began, dazed, her fingers tracing lightly over the smudged kohl portrait of the sphinx. The artist had paid spectacular attention to the its eyes, which had been carved in the Pharaoh’s own likeness. “I misplaced you. Perhaps you would better serve as an artist than a handmaiden.” 

If Clarke were anything but nervous for the Pharaoh to admire her work, she would have taken offense to Lexa’s declaration of her servitude. “It’s not finished,” She repeated instead, shuffling anxiously as Lexa continued to study the image. “Bellamy interrupted before I could—I did not know that this was your Window of Appearances. He said that I—”

With a wave of her hand, Lexa dismissed her and Clarke abruptly fell silent. It took the Pharaoh several moments to regain her composure, and when she did, she handed the papyrus to Clarke. Both women rose to their feet, and Lexa watched as Clarke scurried to shuffle her papyrus into order. “You have been blessed by your God Apollo with a wonderful gift,” Lexa stated, appropriately catching Clarke off guard. Her papyrus nearly fluttered back to the ground, but she was quick to clutch the stack of half drawn images against her chest. The Pharaoh raised an eyebrow. “Have I surprised you, Clarke?”

“Yes,” She admitted. “I have only mentioned Apollo once. You remembered.” 

Lexa nodded, the crown adorning her head tilting forward over her brow. “He is your favorite.” 

“Yes,” Clarke repeated. “He is indeed.” 

There was a momentary lapse in silence. “Come,” Lexa said suddenly, and Clarke tilted her head. “I suppose,” Lexa mused. “That if you are to learn our ways of worship, perhaps you should start with the God most similar to your favorite.” 

Interest piqued, Clarke shuffled towards her, and Lexa motioned with her hand for Clarke to walk with her down the hallway. “What is his name?” The princess asked, matching Lexa’s pace while letting the Pharaoh guide her through the palace. “Is he the God of your art?”

“No,” Lexa told her, prompting Clarke to raise an eyebrow. “His name is Ptah,” She explained, leading the blonde down a corridor. “And he is the God of creation.” 


	6. Chapter Six.

For the first time in several years, the audience chamber had gone silent. The scribes and courtiers were watching the Pharaoh with bated breath, their eyes wide and mouths hanging agape like the fish that were plucked daily from the Nile. Lexa was still standing at the top of the dais, her fingers curled into fists and shoulders heaving with every breath. The tendons in her neck were strained, and Lexa’s cheeks had flushed a pale shade of pink from the effort it had taken her to scream. 

Beneath her and at the bottom of the dais steps, Titus had dropped to one knee, though his own hands had curled into fists inside his sleeves. The Vizier was gritting his teeth, and his body was quaking with an unwavering anger that Lexa could feel wafting off of him. He would do well to remember his place, but Titus had always had a way of pushing his boundaries with the Pharaoh. “I am sorry, your Majesty,” He grounded out, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet Lexa’s. “I did not mean to offend you. But the Azgeda—”

Pushing out a breath through her nose, Lexa raised a demeaning hand to silence him. “Yes you did,” The Pharaoh growled at him, dropping down into her throne with a cracked facade and little composure. She worked her jaw in frustration, and as she crossed her right leg over her left at the knee, Lexa leaned back into the gilded chair. “The Azgeda do not frighten me. Queen Nia does not frighten me.” 

The Vizier rose to his feet, his expression contorted with disbelief. “My Pharaoh, _please_. Nia’s army is stationed near our borders,” Titus placed his foot on the bottom step of the dais, but Lexa’s eyes hardened with a warning that the Vizier made certain to heed. “The Azgeda are waiting in the shadows and for you to make your move. They are waiting for—”

“The right time to strike,” Lexa supplied, raising her chin and flexing her fingers into fists. “As am I. Nia’s army lurks near our borders, but they have done nothing that warrants my intervention. Not yet,” The Pharaoh refrained from pinching the bridge of her nose to try alleviate the pressure that was rapidly building behind her eyes. “Nia is no fool, Titus, and I will not treat her as such. I cannot simply attack her army while unprovoked or ask her to _leave_. Until she crosses the border into my lands, there is nothing I can do that will not lead to a war.” 

Titus shook his head, his beady eyes fixated on the young Queen of Egypt. “I beg you to reconsider,” He said, and Lexa feared that her teeth were about to shatter inside her jaw. “If we wait for Nia to make the first move, it will be _our_ people at risk. It will be _our_ people that pose as collateral damage,” His words were calculated, careful, and Titus spoke them with a barely concealed apprehension. “Your lack of engagement makes you look weak, your Majesty. Queen Nia threatens you, and yet you antagonize her further by—”

“Enough!” Lexa snarled, once again rising from her throne. Titus paced several steps away from the dais, and Lexa descended the steps in a blur of glistening gold. In her haste, the Khepresh crown that adorned her head slid down over her brow, twisting her braided wig beneath it. “I am not _weak_ , Titus. I am cautious. My people know peace, and everything I have done is to achieve that. I will not risk the lives of my warriors if I don't have to,” She stood nose to nose with her Vizier, toe to toe. “You will do well to remember your place, Titus. I am not my father. I have no qualms removing you from power and stripping you of your title.” 

Titus bowed at the waist, his tongue caught between his teeth. “My apologies, your Majesty,” He said, his tone coated with the beginning of a sneer. “I defer to your judgement, as always. But if I may,” Titus stepped back before crossing his arms behind his back. “What of the girl?” He asked, and Lexa blinked her eyes. “Clarke,” Titus clarified. “Your handmaiden from across the sea.”

“What of her?” Lexa replied, bristling. “She has proven herself to be quite useful.” 

“Perhaps,” Titus agreed, begrudgingly. “But do you not find it strange that Clarke’s appearance in Thebes comes shortly after Nia’s arrival at Egypt’s borders?” The Vizier saw the conflict that flashed through Lexa’s eyes and continued while he had her beneath his claws. “The girl claims to have sailed across the Mediterranean, but there are no ships in Egypt that are capable of such travels. While it is impossible to know the truth, your Majesty, I believe that—” 

Lexa’s eyes closed for only a moment, but Titus knew well to fall silent. “Do you not think,” The Pharaoh began through her teeth. “That I have not considered Clarke’s loyalties?” She rose to her tallest height and squared her shoulders, openly challenging her Vizier. “Do you not think that I have considered Clarke to be a spy?” Titus swallowed thickly. “I do not care what you believe, Titus. Whether or not Clarke traveled across the sea, she has come to Egypt seeking asylum, and I have granted it.”

“Pharaoh, I—”

“I will not hear of this again,” Lexa growled, her tone a deafening absolute that Titus couldn't argue with. “You are dismissed, Vizier. See to it that the palace carpenters are still working on their proposals,” She instructed, and Titus’s expression grew grim. It was a task that was far beneath his title. “The Nile has yet to flood, and if we cannot find a way to enrich the soil before it is time to plant, then there will be no crops come _Shemu._ ”

Bowing at the waist, Titus wasted no words on a Pharaoh that did not seek his counsel. His display of respect was brief before the Vizier spun on his heel, traipsing through the audience chamber in a flurry of dark purple robes. The doors swung shut in his wake, and Lexa wasted no words of her own in dismissing the scribes, nobleman, and courtiers who had watched their engagement on edge. She turned, trudging with little grace through the back doors that led to a hidden corridor behind the throne.

Always faithful, Gustus clambered along behind her, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword while the other was wrapped around a spear. Lexa walked ahead of him for several moments, then turned in exasperation and met his gaze. The warrior’s expression was one of stoicism, but Lexa could see the emotion that was burning in the depths of his eyes. He was worried. “I need you to do something for me,” The Pharaoh said, and Gustus nodded once in acknowledgement. “Convene with Indra. I want extra warriors sent to the borders east of Thebes. If so much as a single Azgeda warrior crosses into my lands—”

“You will hear of it, your Majesty,” Gustus assured her, his gruff voice matching his haggard appearance. “Nia shall not play you for a fool. The Vizier is…of little faith,” He chose his words carefully, but Gustus held little respect where Titus was concerned. “But if I may speak freely, my Queen?” He waited for the subtle nod of Lexa’s head in permission. “Perhaps he is right about the girl. She's inquisitive.” 

The Pharaoh rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling. “Perhaps,” She reasoned. “But what would you have me do, Gustus? I cannot let her loose in my capital,” Lexa sighed despairingly. “Clarke is not in Octavia’s favor, but she listens. If she is ever in doubt of the girl’s motives, Octavia knows to come to me. As of now, Clarke’s curiosities are only vexing.” 

Gustus nodded, accepting her judgement. “As a precaution, your Majesty, and if you will allow it, may I increase the number of guards inside the palace?” He asked, and Lexa tilted her head. “My job is to protect you, my Pharaoh, and in the event that the princess from across the sea is indeed in Nia’s control, I fear our numbers may not be enough to keep you safe.” 

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Of course,” Lexa lightly touched his arm. “You are a loyal friend, Gustus, and I appreciate your counsel. Should you feel the need to increase palace security, then please, by all means. You need not ask.” 

There was a noticeable weight that lifted from Gustus’ shoulders. “I shall convene with Indra and then recruit my best warriors to the palace,” Gustus tried to offer her a smile in return, but it was hidden beneath the thick black hairs of his beard. “Is there anywhere I should accompany you first, my Queen?” He asked, but Lexa shook her head. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Lexa told him. “I'll be returning to my chambers for the afternoon, but I will see you in the dining hall for supper. Take this time to do what you must.” 

Gustus bowed at the waist, a low, sweeping gesture that spoke volumes in regard to his respect for her. “As you wish, your Majesty. I will see you in the dining hall.” 

The Pharaoh dismissed him with a gentle wave of her hand, and Gustus sauntered down the corridor until he disappeared around the corner. When he was gone, Lexa released a heavy breath before turning on her heel and venturing back towards her chambers, her mind running rampant and her already weak nerves on end. She noted to send Octavia for a healer when she returned to her room; the dull ache that was emanating through her temples was growing more prevalent with every step that she took. 

But, as the Gods would have it, it wasn't Octavia that was tending to the Pharaoh’s quarters. Clarke was straightening the cotton sheets on Lexa’s bed when the Pharaoh sulked through the double doors, her eyes immediately drawn to the dark smudge of kohl that was streaked across the her cheek. She raised an eyebrow, wondering what muse the Grecian princess had found to sketch that morning. 

As she approached, Clarke seemed lost in her reverie, a gentle tune was spilling from between her lips. Lexa quirked her head and listened, though Clarke’s voice was far too soft for the Pharaoh to make out any words. She could, however, hear the melody, and Clarke’s tone was a soft, beautiful, and heady mixture of baritone chords and delicately high staccato. 

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. “Hello, Clarke,” She called, and Clarke whirled around on her heels. Her eyes, the color of lapis lazuli, were comically wide. Clarke’s hand flew to her chest, her fingers splaying across her ivory skin as though to help contain her heart's frantic beating. Lexa chuckled. “My apologies,” She said. “I did not intend to startle you.” 

Clarke scoffed. “I'm sure,” She snarked, then returned to making Lexa’s bed. “You were gone for several hours,” She noted, tossing a fur blanket across the mattress before wrestling with the duvet to try straightening it. “Do meetings with your advisors always take so long?”

Green eyes hardened with a steely gaze. “No,” Lexa stated calmly, clasping her hands together behind her back as Titus’s words pushed into the forefront of her mind. “There were several petitioners this morning. Trivial matters, really. I could have left them to the Vizier.” 

As she fluffed Lexa's pillows, Clarke hummed in appreciation. “But you didn’t.” 

“No,” The Pharaoh agreed. “I did not.” 

“Why?” Clarke began straightening the candles on the stand next to Lexa’s bed. She used her fingernails to scratch away the wax that had hardened on top of the wood, and it was as she was bent over the table in concentration that Lexa noticed that both her nose and chin were also smudged with kohl. “If the matters are trivial, why see to them yourself?” 

The Pharaoh placed herself on the edge of her bed, then watched as Clarke meticulously moved every candle, setting them in some intricate design that only she could see. “Because they are _my_ people, not the Vizier’s. My life is devoted to them.” 

Clarke made no indication that she’d heard the Pharaoh’s words, and as she moved to arrange another candle, Lexa caught her gently by the wrist. Clarke stilled, her body tensing until Lexa quickly let her go. “I’m sorry,” Lexa said, watching as Clarke recovered. She frowned.  “I did not—your face,” Lexa acquiesced, and Clarke stared at her dumbly. “You're covered in kohl. You’ve been drawing.”

Snapping out of her stupor, Clarke’s cheeks tinged a dark shade of red. She reached up and brushed her fingers across her skin, only to find that her face was indeed dirty. “I—” Lexa heard the harsh murmur of strange words spill from the princess’s mouth. “Can I…” Clarke bit her lip. “Would you mind if I washed my face?” She asked, her eyes flickering towards the Pharaoh’s private bathroom. “I won’t be long. I didn't realize—”

Lexa’s smile was amused. “Did you forget to bathe this morning, Clarke?” She asked, and her words were not without humor. Clarke’s expression was horrified, and the Pharaoh relinquished a quiet chuckle. “You may wash, Clarke. I don't mind. I prefer that my handmaidens are clean. But if you would,” Lexa crossed her legs at the knee, right over left, and lightly bounced her foot. “Return to your quarters and fetch me the drawings that you’ve done. I would very much enjoy seeing your work.” 

Her eyes widened. “My—it’s _awful_ ,” Clarke said, and Lexa raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Certainly there are better artists in the palace whose work you could—”

“No,” Lexa said. “There are not. I would like to see what you have done.”  

Clarke studied her for several moments before releasing a sigh of defeat. “All right,” She resigned, and Lexa _almost_ smiled again. “I'll return shortly.”

Nodding, Lexa watched as Clarke swept from the room with all the grace of a royal. As she departed, an unusual flutter twisted inside Lexa's stomach. Clarke was hardly fit to be a handmaiden, but Lexa appreciated that the woman had taken to her new role with little complaint. She also appreciated Clarke’s newly discovered talents in the arts, and she wondered, perhaps, if Clarke could service her in other ways. 


	7. Author's Note.

**Hey, guys.**

**Alrighty, so. If you're following my "Surviving Praimfaya" fic, or if you follow me on tumblr, you know that I've chosen not to write stories for the Clexa fandom anymore. I was getting a lot of backlash over Surviving Praimfaya and people kept arguing with me and other readers in the comments, and it got to the point that people were also harassing me on tumblr. I haven't written anything Clexa based ever since, and unfortunately, I don't plan to do so in the near or distant future beyond MAYBE the occasional one-shot.**

**xoxo LittleHeda**


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